Fetch In the Muck
Through the thick of the fog
I begged to the bog
stumped by a stymied log.
It was hollow of pride,
like a zookeeper’s dog,
reduced to bark-less hide.
From the splat of my thud
It wore polka-spot mud
and rolled just because
It knew what It was
to snap unjustified.
So what could I do
but prove what It knew
with another attack
on the cripple I threw?
If cracking my back
playing fetch in the muck
was the point of It all - I’m stuck.
12/11/2018
Copyright © Phillip Garcia | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment